


under the table

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (i say semi bc it's public but like. no one else knows they're doing it), ....sort of?, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Newt's inability to shut up, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Public Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21888574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Hermann is irritated, and a mandatory meeting provides him with the excuse he needs to teach Newton a lesson.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103





	under the table

**Author's Note:**

> more fic i started that im determined to finish and get up before the end of the year! heres some porn i talked about on side :)
> 
> i tagged for "power play" bc it's like, kinda in the same vein of the "newt jerking off in the lab shower" fic i posted back in july? it's not d/s but it's like, inherently not vanilla i guess lmfao

“Are you mad at me?” Newton says.

Hermann looks at him coldly.

“No,” he says. “Should I be?”

On the contrary, Hermann is, in fact, quite irritated with Newton, which Newton very well knows. Earlier that morning—after Hermann _specifically_ warned Newton to watch where he was going _—_ Newton tripped, fell into his own dissection table, and sent kaiju guts flying everywhere. When he tried to clean them up (only after Hermann shouted at him enough), he merely succeeded in _somehow_ spreading the mess to Hermann’s chalkboardand completely destroying a day’s worth of work. Hermann stormed from the room shortly after. He didn’t trust himself to be around the man when he wanted nothing more than to commit some act ofviolence against him.

In fact, these are the first words he’s spoken to Newton since.

“Just, since, you know,” Newton says. He scuffs his other boot against the floor. Acting _coy_ , of course. It’s what he always does when he knows he’s in the wrong. “It’s okay if you are mad at me. I’d understand.”

This has the opposite effect on Hermann of what he—presumes—Newton wanted to happen. He scowls; he stiffens. “Oh, thank you _terribly_ for your permission,” he snaps. “I was _so_ worried.”

Newton groans, shoulders sagging. “Shit, dude, what else do you want me to say? I’ve already apologized a fucking million times. I wish I could undo it. I can’t.”

“Ideally,” Hermann says, “you could just shut it.”

Ideally, Hermann would just drag Newton to the nearest deserted supply closet, shove him to his knees, and take out his frustration there, which is what he typically does when Newton pisses him off as badly as he has now (which is why he has a feeling Newton enjoys pissing him off in the first place), but they’ve got a somewhat important meeting due to start in minutes and simply haven’t enough time. Afterwards, perhaps.

Or—well—

The door to the conference room swings open. Hercules Hansen nods at them in greeting. “We’re ready for you lot,” he says.

Newton and Hermann shuffle inside, a handful of jaeger techs right behind them. The meeting _is_ important, particularly for Hermann, though Newton is there mostly to show a united k-science front and offer support to some of Hermann's data. Or something of the sort. Hermann couldn’t shake him, so now they’re here together. He’s glad for it now.

He chooses a seat at the opposite end of the table from Marshal Pentecost and Hansen, knowing he’ll likely be called upon quite frequently to relay jaeger statistics and data. He motions Newton into the one next to him. “Thought you wouldn’t want to sit together,” Newton mumbles.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Hermann says. He plasters a smile on his face. “Do sit down, Newton.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, Newton obeys.

The meeting drags, as they usually tend to (not that Hermann will admit it), and he waits until he’s been posed a question to put his plan into motion. He feels Newton will appreciate it better that way. “Yes,” he says, loud enough for the room to hear, adjusting his glasses, “yes, I’ve got that right here…”

He shuffles his small stack of papers with one hand, selects the one from it he needs, and places it at the front. He places his other hand (hidden beneath the table) on Newton’s thigh simultaneously. Newton, to his credit, doesn’t so much as stir; he’s always very good for Hermann when he wants to be, and Hermann had a feeling he'd been expecting this. “You are referring to the December 2023 attack, yes?” Hermann says. He slides his hand down to the front of Newton’s absurdly tight skinny jeans. “That was—”

He squeezes Newton’s prick through the denim.

Newton squeaks and jumps an inch out of his seat.

All eyes turn to him. Including Hermann’s. “Is something the matter, Dr. Geiszler?” he says with perfectly feigned innocence, squeezing around Newton again. He’s pleased to find Newton is reacting exactly as he hoped he would: Newton’s always so terribly sensitive, even to the slightest touch, and already Hermann can feel him stirring to life in the confines of those jeans. Already a telltale pink blush has started to spread from the tips of his cheeks down to his neck (soon to color the freckled gaps in his tattooed skin beneath it).

For now, Newton takes a deep, shuddering breath. “No,” he says. “No. Sorry.” He wets his lips. His expression is one of equal parts mortification and excitement, which further pleases Hermann, though he flicks his eyes to Hermann in such a way Hermann has no doubt he is enjoying this. “Uh, c-carry on.”

Hermann does. The long list of data he’s meant to recite aloud requires little to no thought, so he devotes the bulk of his attention to steadily riling Newton up: gentle squeezing at the hardening shape of him through his jeans, pressure applied with the heel of his palm, the occasional light _pinch_ the way Newton goes wild for. All the while, Newton squirms, all the while, Newton grips (white-knuckled) at the edge of the long table, all the while, sweat beads at Newton’s forehead. It’s not until Newton gives a particularly loud cough that Herman breaks his facade and glances up from his data.

“Are you _quite_ alright, Dr. Geiszler?” he says. He does not slow his hand.

“I’m,” Newton stammers, “fine. I’m, uh, fine. Just feeling a little sick.” He coughs again.

“You ought to get that checked out,” Hermann says.

“Yeah,” Newton says, faintly. 

“Dr. Geiszler,” the Marshal says.

Hermann flicks open the first button of Newton’s fly. “Yeah?” Newton repeats, just as faintly. He glances from Hermann’s data to the small stack of his own, resting in front of him, and blinks a few times. “Oh, shi—shoot. That’s right. December.”

“December,” Hermann agrees. “If you’d be so inclined to take it away, Doctor.”

Another button of Newton’s fly. Newton reaches up with more subtly than Hermann imagined the man possessing and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Right,” he says. “I looked at a sample of, uh, of—” Another button. One more, and there’s just Newton’s briefs to take care of. “A sp—spleen.”

Newton rubs at the back of his neck. Hermann undoes his final button. “It was—it looked, I mean—”

“Our with it, will you?” Hermann says. Carefully, he tugs the elastic waistband of Newton’s briefs down under his erection, then just as carefully curls his fingers around his damp, flushed head.

Newton goes cross-eyed. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Gah,” he says.

“What?” Hermann says.

“I’m,” Newton says, “I—”

Newton is always so terribly eager for every little touch Hermann gives him, and he’s leaked enough precome over himself already to provide a nice, slick lubricant for Hermann to pump him with. And Hermann does so, with great pleasure. He drags his curled fingers back and forth, root to tip, over and over, in a few teasing strokes, rubs the pad of his thumb at Newton’s slit, along the vein at the underside of him. Newton’s leg begins to shake up and down. “You look terribly unwell,” Hermann says, frowning, leaning in. “Would you like me to take over for you?”

“That’d be peachy,” Newton squeaks. Hermann speeds his hand; Newton digs his teeth into his lower lip, so hard Hermann sees blood bead, and slumps down a centimeter in his seat. His glasses slip to the end of his nose.

“Excuse my colleague,” Hermann says, solemnly, to the rest of the room, “we’ve been rather overworked as of late. Newton, would you mind…?”

He nods towards Newton’s stack of papers. Newton pushes it towards him with a shaky hand. “Thank you,” Hermann says.

Just a little more, Hermann thinks; Newton’s breathing has gone erratic, his face entirely red, and he’s making those funny, quiet little noises that mean he’s trying _desperately_ to reign in his moans. (A sound the thin walls of their Shatterdome bunks have forced Hermann to become quite accustomed to.) Hermann tightens his grip, and feels Newton pulse in it.

“ _Ah_ ,” Newton gasps, and kicks his boot back against his chair leg. He coughs loudly. “I’m sorry. I’ve got—bad headache—”

He does a fairly decent job of covering up his moan as a sneeze when he orgasms a wrist-twist and a second later. Hermann pats his thigh (a job well done) and gently tucks him back in, before wiping his hand off on the denim and pulling away. “Now, where Dr. Geiszler left off...”

They linger as everyone else files out of the meeting room, and Newton corners Hermann against the wall the moment the door has shut. “You are such a _dick_ ,” he says. He paws gracelessly at Hermann’s belt. “C’mon, take this off, I’ll blow you—”

Hermann stills him with a hand to his sternum. “I will _allow_ you to do so,” he says, “when you’ve re-copied all of my work you so carelessly destroyed today.” Newton whines; Hermann pats his cheek. “Off you go, Newton. Be quick about it.”

“Dick,” Newton repeats, but he has a smile on his face when he scurries out of the room, fly still undone.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter at hermanngaylieb, horny 18+ only twitter at hermanngayszler, and tumblr at hermannsthumb! happy holidays!


End file.
